It bothers me when I tell people I'm a writer and they respond that they've always wanted to write a book, and generally it's about their life. I don't mind that; I do mind the way the act of writing, to them, appears so casual. Good writing really is damned hard. Crafting a work that resonates beyond one's ego is the true task of a writer. That takes courage and work. Hard work.

I was talking with someone and I interjected God into the conversation and the woman rolled her eyes.

Uh, excuse me?

She doesn't believe in God and certainly not the one I was talking about.

That's okay with me, but I don't think she has the right to disrespect my belief while I was trying to be respectful of hers.

I hate it when people feel they have the right to voice their beliefs all they want but they disrepect others' right to the same.

In the aftermath of Jordin's American Idol win, I read this article that said she was going to use her newfound fame to promote her anti-abortion stance, as if that was a bad thing. (There's a picture of her with a poster which reads Stop Abortion Now)

I don't understand what's with some people-- if she believes abortion is wrong, where's the problem? As long as she's not bombing clinics or threatening doctors, does she not have the right to her beliefs?

Last night before I fell to sleep, the reason I was struggling with multiple drafts came to me: I'm not accepting the truth that's in this story.

The first draft had an ending that I loved and I've been trying to write scenes that would lead me to it. However, the scenes, the story line, the character development that I've got up to this point all call for a different ending, the one that was revealed to me last night.

It's not a happy ending, and that's hard for me 'cause (true to my nature) I want the main character to be someone he isn't, to do something he can't. Although I'm writing this story, that's not for me to decide. (Also a lesson I need to take and apply in real life.

Quite liberating. I'll have a complete draft today. Yahoo!

I should keep this quote by Chekhov in mind ". . . the writer's job . . . is merely to record who, under what conditions, said or thought what. . . The artist is not meant to be a judge of his characters and what they say; his only job is to be an impartial witness. . . Drawing conclusions is up to the jury, that is, the readers. My only job is to be talented, that is, to know how to distinguish important testimony from unimportant, to place my characters in the proper light and speak their language."

Art is a human activity consisting in this, that one man consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others feelings he has lived through, and that other people are infected by these feelings and also experience them.

Art is not, as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some mysterious idea of beauty or God; it is not, as the aesthetical physiologists say, a game in which man lets off his excess of stored-up energy; it is not the expression of man's emotions by external signs; it is not the production of pleasing objects; and, above all, it is not pleasure; but it is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Spent the day listening to old school rock, southern and otherwise, while I wrote-- that was nice. 38 Special, Allman Bros.,Foreigner, the ballads by KISS and Alice Cooper. . .

"Break a heart, break a heart of stone/Open it up but don't you leave it alone/'Cause that's all I've got give to you believe me babe it ain't been used/My heart's a virgin it ain't never been tried. . ."

Way overwhelmed by things so I dropped out of the festival in Virginia.

Started losing things, the sign that I've reached *that* point- the little purse with my "member" cards (only the B&N, the Borders, Best Buy and CVS saw any real use, but still) and my box of pencils and pens (lines were coming to me for a story I'm working on so I scrounged around in my purse only to find I no longer had the pencil box that I just had; only writing implements, a highlighter and my eyeliner pencil!)

No I did not lose the flash drive and yes, I haven't lost my mind [yet;-)]

Have you heard about or seen the video of Sanjaya claiming to be an art student named Bill Vendall and that "Sanjaya" was created as part of an art project. Ha! What that boy won't do to stay in the news.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. "Which road do I take?" she asked. "Where do you want to go?" was his response. "I don't know," Alice answered. "Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."

Friday, May 18, 2007

I looked at my schedule and thought that it was becoming impossible --- so much that I had to do. Then she told me that the June 16 festival could be a bust, if I wanted. I didn't have to plan on going since I haven't heard from the organizers and that only if they did indeed pay, would I attend. She also told me that I didn't have to consider going to Oklahoma instead. That she'd just e-mail that coordinator and say "keep us in mind" for a future event.

An interview on an internet radio show, something in Essence magazine and some coverage in a New York-based literary publication geared toward people of color (whatever that means 'cause everyone's got some color to him/her)-- that's what's she's pursuing for me now.

No new gigs requiring travel so I can get some stories completed, get settled somewhere and decide if I really want to quit this writing thing.

So I withheld the firing and am writing today and all is happy in the world :)

It's about time for writers - particularly those who are genuine artists - to recognize that in this world you cannot figure out everything. Just have a writer who the crowds trust be courageous enough and declare that he does not understand everything, and that alone will represent a major contribution to the way people think, a long leap forward.

So here's what you do: take your memories and present them to the reader. Take your passions. You take as much guilt and as little total depravity as you can safely mix in. You read. You steal. You want desperately to be a writer. You volunteer to nail your soft parts to a tree. You soak up everything. You take notes. You retire to your garret or your study or your office and you tie yourself to the chair with the belt of your bathrobe. And you write. You slowly go crazy, but you write. You drink lye, if that is what it will take, and you remember the nights and caves in Granada. Because you desperately want to be a writer. You do. You write. You write. And you write.

I got a hard copy today. If this were the big world of publishing, we'd call it my advance review copy.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love it. I am pleased, very, with the way it looks although there's one formatting change to be made for aesthetic reasons. Otherwise, it's truly beautiful and I'm way excited and can't wait to get to the second one.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Eleven sunflowers have sprouted. The instructions on the strawberry seeds said it would take awhile, but it's taking forever. And I had no luck with the first planting of those chrysanthemums, so I'm trying again.

I care, most deeply, about the sunflowers. When I get moved, I'll start some more so I can have them all summer long.

This is a pic I took last year from my garden. Such beauty! So much in the world God gave us to be thankful for.

So I'll be going back to Detroit! I'll be conducting a workshop at a writer's conference. Waiting to hear about another workshop for a writer's group in Baltimore, the one I spoke to before.

My calendar is full, full, full.

I'm not sure about that festival in Florida. They thought I was a vocal performer (and that's why they were willing to pay me-ha!) so I don't know where that stands, although I'm e-mailing to find out 'cause there's an event in Oklahoma I could particpate in instead.

It was one of those writing days when time flies by and you don't even think to stop to eat 'cause all you're hungry for is the right word.

Revising the work, I found lots of places where I was a lazy writer or a sloppy one. Mostly, there were places where I thought I was Faulkner and just wrote and wrote and wrote without a care or thought of punctuation ha ha!

Am hovering at 95 for those stories. Trying, trying to get to 100 before I leave. Have one week.

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I'm going to collaborate with another writer. Am hoping this works out; he's way talented and, quite honestly, has the information I need to flesh the work out. I'm very excited to be attempting this.

Two more works I'm possibly going to be collaborating on with two other writers as well. We'll see how this first one goes though.

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I have a story right now that I consider my "prize." Every now and then, I write a story that I hold above the rest that I'm working on. "The Preacher's Daughter" holds that current status. It got rejected from the first print magazine I sent it to, but wow what a rejection.

"I was so moved (so moved underlined) by 'The Preacher's Daughter'-- it angered me and broke my heart at the same time. . . " and then it goes on to suggest that I take the work from a flash to a full story because I have "rich material" to work with. And "try us again" and of course I will submit again and directly to that editor.

What I'm not going to do is make the story longer, although it would be fascinating to delve further into the lives of those characters. The reason why is the same reason it's a flash to begin with --I have so little time!

Cleaning out old files. Found this poem I wrote 20+ years ago. I don't have plans to send it anywhere-- unsure if it's "publishable" but I like this poem, and a few others, that I'm going to post here 'cause it's my blog and I can;-)

Glendale's planning a celebration for Jordin this Friday. If you're lucky, you may even get to view the store where she held her first job (this according to an article in the morning paper). If there's time,that is, 'cause there's a parade and the meeting with the mayor. . .

la de dah

Of the choices available (cough, cough) I love Jordin, but really.

She's going to win 'cause she's the most marketable between her and Melinda. She'll win 'cause I think AI is rigged, but that's another post for another day.

I was sitting by the podium at the boarding gate. The pilots arrived, one by one, placing their luggage by the stand. The first pilot was gorgeous. So hot that I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

When it was time for the crew to enter, he took his bag, and as he passed me, he smiled and winked. I was just as giddy as I was when I was seventeen and went to that Doobie Brothers' concert, getting Michael McDonald's attention and having him wink at me!

"Homework?" the pilot asked, nodding toward the pile of papers in my lap.

"Uh, no, I'm uh. . .I'm a writer." Girl, since when did you stumble with words?

He nodded.

I was one of the first people on the plane. Entering the coach section, I eyed THAT pilot.

Straightening (he was adjusting something in a seat), he asked what I wrote.

"Short stories and poetry," I said, heading down the aisle to my seat.

When we landed, the crew had already departed by the time I got down to the door. In the airport, I got my bag from claims and went out the wrong door to be on the side of the building where I needed to be to get picked up.

I got directions on how to find my way to the other side of the airport. I went back in and looked for the numbered door I was supposed to exit. Not that side. I turned.

"Ah, the poet!"

The pilot stepped off the escalator.

"Are you following me?" I asked. Of course, I was hoping he'd say yes, heh heh.

He laughed.

We chatted.

"So where are you headed?" he asked.

"I'm trying to find my way out of here," I said.

"Well, I've got to get to a meeting," he said, turning toward the door. "It was my pleasure," he told me.

This morning in my email box, a list of black-owned bookstores across the country. I was wishing for such so I might create some signings when I go places-- and if all works out, then I'll be in Virginia, Florida, D.C., Los Angeles, Los Angeles again, Chicago, Baltimore, back to New York and in Cambridge, MA.

Whew! Made me tired just writing it.

And I am tired. So today I'm doing nothing but organizing what I'm taking with me when I leave Arizona.

Tomorrow, I'll resume my position as promotions director for Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz and get to that list.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

My work is emotionally autobiographical. It has no relationship to the actual events of my life, but it reflects the emotional currents of my life. I try to work every day because you have no refuge but writing. When you're going through a period of unhappiness, a broken love affair, the death of someone you love, or some other disorder in your life, then you have no refuge but writing.

The event in Detroit was geared toward women; there were women writers and a woman selling tupperware and some others, among them a woman who teaches pole dancing.

I was hesitant when she invited me to learn a few moves, but then I conceded and WOW. There has been, of course, some planting in our collective pysches that equates pole dancing (stripping) with a degree of sexiness and although that's not true, working that pole certainly makes one feel free and uninhibited. The woman even gifted me with a boa!! And you can purchase a pole for use in your own home. hmmmmmm

I was not as organized as I thought I was. And the money that was supposed to be put in my account wasn't (but thanks to Dennis and Carrie for helping me [again]).The map I printed out was not helpful because I didn't start from the correct point and the cab driver got lost grrrr. Shouldn't you know the streets if you're working in transportation?????? And should I have to pay you for your mistakes??????????????????????/ double-grrrr

Anyway, one day all of my arrangements will be planned and footed by someone other than me and I won't have to deal with the details. hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

My story was well received. I like when that happens.

And I might not have to publish those three chapbooks on black culture the way I thought. Have to email marketing plan, sample chapters, a synopsis to a woman here who has her own publishing company which distributes through Ingram. Perfect-bound books. I like that idea better than my original.

The Mets are playing the Diamondbacks in Phoenix. I forgot that they were there for 3 games. Darn. I missed all three opportunities :( But I'd rather be here than there, 'cause those guys already got big careers going on!

When we are writing, painting or composing, we are, during the time of creativity, freed from normal restrictions, and are opened to a wider world, where colors are brighter, sounds clearer and people more wondrously complex than we normally realize.

I got a reply from a coordinator at the Virginia festival. I thought it was a small affair.

It is actually the 24th year of this event which draws 100,000 in Norfolk. And Mario is going to be there. Regina Belle. Lisa Lisa of "I wonder if I take you home" fame, though no Cult Jam. The Mary Jane Girls. To name a few.

The coordinator instructed me to mark my calendar for one of the three days of the festival because I am going to be the special guest for a reception.

Me?

Really?

I am humbled, yes, and so very surprised. In a way. I've been working for things like this for awhile. Plant, water, something grows.

What I'm not doing is wondering if I "deserve" it. Not productive; just destructive.

When something good comes your way, it's best not to question it. Just be grateful. Just say "thank you." Just enjoy it.

Getting a book out is not as easy as I thought. But finally-- the glitches worked out and "Mother Love" will be out in weeks.

I'll be "advertising" it here. It's a limited-run (autographed, numbered copies); only 50 will be available outside of readings, through paypal so pull out your checkbooks and credit cards hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Lately, I've just been able to get a sentence in here, a paragraph in there because I've been busy with the promotional stuff, chasing leads and opportunities.

Yesterday, I got to work on a story. It felt so good to write more than just a few words 'cause I wasn't distracted. Gonna work on the story more today. Several stories if I can 'cause reading periods are closing and the 15th is a contest deadline.

Last year I didn't get around to seeing B.B. King and I was disappointed that things didn't work out, that I didn't help them work out so I could go to one of his concerts, but it turns out a better deal was in the making.

He's touring this year with Al Green (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and select shows also feature Etta James.